


Up The Coast

by DarlingStar246



Series: Coastal Verse [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bisexual Archie Andrews, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Holidays, M/M, Sex, Sorry About It, Switching, slightly ooc?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingStar246/pseuds/DarlingStar246
Summary: Jughead and Archie take a well-deserved break.OR: The one where the boys take a trip to the beach, eat and drink a lot, and have much needed sex by the ocean, because why not?





	Up The Coast

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how publishers and editors work. If anyone does, apologies in advance for my complete inaccuracies. If you don’t, enjoy my perfectly acceptable description *hides. * 
> 
> P.S Some of this turned into porn without me realising *Shrugs*. Ah well, what can you do? Rated as such! 😊

At the eleventh hour, slouched back aching and fingers numb, does Jughead finally look out through the blinds on his office window and see early morning sunshine. He becomes transfixed by the dust floating in the ray of light, radiating through the dim room like a sunbeam, highlighting the dull atmosphere surrounding him. A second cup of coffee is sitting beside the desktop computer and the effects of the caffeine are already wearing off, eyes barely scanning the screen before drooping. He has a deadline to complete, and he’s determined to finish his book before his publisher calls and demands a copy for editing.

 _Wish I was so lucky_ he thinks as not ten seconds after the clock hits seven, his mobile starts buzzing where it’s resting haphazardly on a stacked pile of handwritten notes. _Samantha,_ the screen reads, and Jughead sighs heavily before answering. “Morning Sam.”

 _"Jughead,”_ she affirms, asserting her authority. _“How’s it going?”_ Jughead winces. Loud voices don’t mix well with fatigue. He tells the mean voice in his head to shut up.

“Just about done. Going over the finishing touches now.” Reassurance is always the most effective method to lower Sam’s stress levels when it comes to punctuality. Crazy is a person, apparently. There’s shuffling on the other end of the line. A crash, a bang, and Jughead hears a _‘be quiet, I’m on the phone!’_ yelled right into his ear. He turns his head from the speaker to avoid bursting his eardrum.

 _“Sorry, hon. Fuck me, I don’t advocate violence but I’m about to dropkick these children of mine any second. Either that, or you and Archie can take them.”_ A pause. _“Forever.”_ Jughead chuckles. “All due respect, but we don’t want them.”

 _“At least someone is giving me respect.”_ Another _‘go and pack your bag for school!’_ follows before she continues. _“Anyway, you’ve got two days, Jug. Two,“_ she repeats, like Jughead didn’t hear her the first time. _“Tom needs to revise the final copy by the beginning of next week.”_ Jughead thinks of his editor, eyes squeezing shut and fingers of his free hand closing tight together in a fist grip. “Yes, Tom will receive a copy of my completed work by the end of tomorrow. I promise,” he reassures, once again.

A sigh, a _‘stop hassling your sister!’_ and finally, _“these kids are going to be the death of me. Are you sure you and Arch don’t want them? They’re not so bad when they’re asleep.”_

Another chuckle. “I like quiet…and sex. Crazy, wild sex. Not a suitable environment for children, I’m afraid. Besides, what would you possibly do without them?”

 _“Watch TV. Go shopping. Read a damn book once in a while. Hell, sleep. You know, the usual.”_ He can hear her smile over the phone _. “Right, well thanks, hon. Be ready, okay?”_

“You know I will be.”

 _“Okay. See you. Enjoy your chaotic free day,”_ and the line goes dead. His about ready to smash the phone across the room. “Fuck this,” he mumbles out loud, strung out and tired, remembering all the times he’d been up at all hours of the night working on his novel. “I need a fucking holiday.”

 

**********

 

“You can’t possibly eat that many burgers in one sitting, Jug.”

Archie is sitting in the passenger seat of their truck, relentless, even though he _knows_ he won’t win this friendly argument of how much Jughead can eat.

“I bet you I can eat _at least_ five.”

“With chips?”

“Probably.”

Archie sighs, clearly overpowered. Their travelling along the highway towards the coast, ready for expensive wine, excessive amounts of food and Archie Andrews in all his glory; shirt off and hair streaked golden from the sun. Archie needs this just as much; creating magical music takes it toll. He works hard, and Jughead can sense it in every music sheet, every lyric, every scrunched-up page he finds in the trash can when it’s _not quite right_. His commitment and dedication to the arts is overwhelming. More often than not, Jughead will find himself lounging in the tiny living room they share in the city, listening attentively to another one of Archie’s songs. Take-away packets will be chucked on the coffee table, and the guitar will appear out of nowhere (it seems) and Jughead will relish in the innocence and joy that is the man sitting across from him.

“Besides, we’re going away. Fuck portion size, Arch. I’m ready to eat.”

Archie smirks, shakes his head, breaths out his nose in defeat. “We should go to the grocery store when we get there, grab some stuff for the hotel. Save money on eating out,” he casually mentions, like fucking _cooking_ is on the agenda.

“Archie,” he says exasperatedly, “the whole point of this holiday is to do exactly the _opposite_ of cooking. We are _not_ using any sort of kitchen utensil while we’re away. We’re buying out, spending all our money on expensive dinners for all I care. Who the hell cooks on holiday anyway?”

There’s no way Archie can avoid the snark as it’s hurtles towards his direction. He puts both hands up, surrendering. “Okay, okay. We won’t go to the grocery store. Just a suggestion,” Archie defends. “I’d say you love food more than me sometimes.”

Jughead softens, wraps one hand around Archie’s where it’s resting on his own lap, face mischievous. “You may be right you know,” Jughead admits, “but you’re a damn close second.”

An hour later, and out of the corner of his eye, Jughead can see a fidgety knee bouncing and thumb clicking a pen that was placed in the middle console of the truck. Archie doesn’t do well with stillness, having been diagnosed with anxiety disorder not long after high school. The therapist mentioned something about becoming agitated easily, and restless, especially when the mind has a chance to _think_. Or overthink, as Dr. Zander explained in his _important_ voice.

‘You need distraction, Archie. Find something that keeps you occupied.’ Jughead was confused by that, because you can’t stay _busy_ forever. This was brought up.

‘In that case, focus on exercises of mindfulness. Such as finding a quiet, safe place, closing your eyes and deep breathing.’ This was also confusing, as breathing is vital for survival, and all. The rest of the stuff that was mentioned was reasonably useful, though. Dr. Zander handed them a bunch of paper and a list of websites to visit, and Archie hesitantly confirmed that he would like to continue the sessions; support from Jughead all the way.  

Archie sees him eyeing his jittery legs and mumbles an apology. Jughead shakes his head, assures him to not worry about it. Then, with jest, “I must admit though, if you keep moving, I am _going_ to throw you out of this car.” He hears a scoff, looks over and sees Archie smirking. “Well, in that case,” and he starts wiggling around like crazy, car rocking with the force.

“Okay, stop! Stop!” eyes rolling, hiding a smile. “Are you okay, though? Did you want to stretch? Grab something? I kinda need to pee.”

Archie’s eyes light up. “Yes! Donuts.”

So, they stop at a service station, fill the truck up, pee, and buy a dozen chocolate and cream filled donuts. Jughead doesn’t think he’s ever loved someone more.

 

**********

 

It takes another two hours before they’re driving into the carpark of the hotel, stomachs full of donuts and mouths full of complaints. They slowly open the doors of the truck and tumble out, legs moving to the trunk for their bags. “What the hell were we thinking? We finished the whole fucking box.”

Jughead just snickers. “For such a supposed hard-ass, you’re a complete pussy. Come on, babe. I told you not to outeat me, and now look at you!” Archie holds his stomach and loudly burps.

“Ah, fuck. I need to go on a four-hour run to work all that sugar off.”

“No,” Jughead says as he saunters over to Archie and wraps his arms around his neck. “What you need to do is take me to the bedroom, throw me down and fuck me like you mean it.”

Archie raises his eyebrows, questionable. “Already? We _literally_ just got here. You want to check the place out first? Maybe a walk?”

Between work commitments and conflicting schedules, intimacy had been placed on the backburner. A quick kiss before leaving for work or a rushed hug before exhaustingly falling asleep was all they managed in the last three weeks.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We came here for food and sex and whatever happens between that, I don’t care.” Jughead reaches for the bags and stops suddenly, looks Archie square in the eyes. Says defiantly, “and if you think you’re getting me on a fucking pushbike, no.”

Archie reaches for the second bag, closes the trunk and slaps Jughead on the ass as he falls in step beside him. “Oh yeah? I have something else for you to ride.”

Jughead shoulders him as they walk closely together to the hotel entrance. The glass doors slide open, revealing a large reception area. Plush couches face towards the ocean and there’s a café in the corner leading out towards a timber deck; an inbuilt fireplace situated directly in the middle. It’s nice without being overtly extravagant. The lady behind the counter greets them with a welcoming smile.

“Hi! How can I help you today?”

“Hi,” Jughead starts, attempting to mirror her enthusiasm. “We’ve made a booking under the name Jones.”

“Of course.” She scans the computer screen for a moment, finger scrolling the mouse. _Clare_ , her nametag reads.

“Jughead, is it?”

“That’s me.”

“Wonderful.” Another more blinding smile. Jughead wonders how she does it without breaking her face. “You’re booked into an ocean villa overlooking the water. Just head to the elevator right over there,” points and nods in the direction of said elevator, “and head up to the top level. Room 33.”

Jughead smiles. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Don’t hesitate to contact reception if you need any more assistance.”

 “Will do. Thanks again.”

The room is spacious. Heavy curtains pulled open reveal large glass windows looking out over the ocean. Sunlight is streaming through, warming up the cool room. A private staircase leads down onto the sand from the balcony and from a glimpse, there’s a triangle spa in the bathroom.

“Nice, Jug,” Archie approves, eyes scanning over every available surface, entranced.

“Bit different to back home, hey?”

Archie nods. “Certainly bigger.”

Jughead closes in on Archie’s back, wraps arms around his neck and rests his head on a muscled shoulder. “Definitely bigger.”

Archie turns around and his arms go around Jughead’s waist, hands travelling underneath his shirt, over heated skin. “You are the absolute best, you know that?”

Jughead smiles but doesn’t respond. Just moves his head over Archie’s cheek before reaching his mouth, kisses him slowly but passionately. His fingers grip onto the back of Archie’s neck and weakly pull his hair. He hears a whimper and grins, pulls _harder_ until Archie scrambles towards the bed, pulling Jughead with him. He’s thrown onto the sheets with enough force to make him bounce. Archie follows, hovering above him.

“You might need a reward for your efforts,” Archie says between kisses.

“A reward?” He receives a bite to the neck, another kiss. “ _Shit_. What is this, Starbucks? Do I get a rewards card? A free fuck every ten good deeds?”

“If you’re lucky.”

Archie has always been transparent when it comes to sex. He loves it, openly and unashamedly. He knows how to pull Jughead apart, how to heighten his senses, how to make him _let go_ when all he wants to do is close off. Archie has made sure to find every pleasure point and every weak spot. He’s always understanding. Sex with Archie is like falling from a skyline; riding on a motorcycle; held suspended above a mountain top. His agility and strength are nothing short of amazing.

Jughead has decided it comes down to one thing: Archie has a magic fucking cock, and he knows exactly how to use it.

“Wait, off, off!” Archie stops immediately, going stiff in confusion. Jughead scrambles off the bed, rushes over to the open curtains and flings them closed, nearly ripping them off the hinges. He throws himself down onto the bed again and pulls Archie on top. “For privacy,” he says simply, even though it’s unlikely that anyone could see in. “Right, carry on,” and Archie is already mouthing along his chin, his neck, fingers pushing up the hem of his shirt. Jughead’s back automatically lifts upwards and the shirt goes flying. Lips travel down his body, towards his navel, the button on his jeans is undone and they’re dragged down his legs impatiently. Archie stands up hurriedly, removes his clothing as Jughead is staring him down, half-lidded eyes occupied by hard lines and a strong body.

“Fuck, lube. Where did we put it? Did we pack it?” Archie asks worriedly. Jughead assures that _yes, it’s in the separate pocket of my bag_ before he’s being surrounded again, feels cold, wet fingers delve underneath him, rub against him, slip inside him.

“ _Shit,_ Arch, don’t hesitate. _Come on.”_ Jughead pushes back, forcing the fingers deeper, right into where he’s soaring in mid-air. “There,” and Archie pushes another finger in, pumping them inwards, harder, deeper, there, there, there…

Archie’s fingers are magic too. A whole magic package thrown into human form, and Jughead is _spellbound._

His legs feel like jelly already, quivering with arousal, spread wide as Archie squeezes his thighs, kisses his hip bones, lips trailing over the head of Jughead’s dick until it’s swallowed down in one move, throat relaxing like Archie was born for it. It’s filthy, and it’s making Jughead wild. His fingers grip onto Archie’s hair, holding his head steady as hips lift off the bed, gently thrusting into a pliant mouth and an open throat. Archie stays still, just where Jughead wants him, tears trailing his cheeks and dick hard and untouched.

Archie loves to be used; makes him needy and desperate.

And Jughead likes being in control, no matter who’s getting fucked.

Jughead stills his hips when he feels himself getting close, softly holds Archie’s head halfway down his dick. “Look at me, babe. Up,” and Archie lifts his teary eyes, cheeks wet and mouth dripping. It’s pornographic, and it’s beautiful.

 “Arch, come on, babe. You need to fuck me, _now.”_

Jughead doesn’t say it again. Cool air embraces his dick and his legs are lifted as they wrap around Archie’s waist easily. There’s a pillow shoved under his ass, knees are pressed close against his lower back and _stretch, burn, gasp_. Jughead winces, closes his eyes and covers his face with the pillow.

They shouldn’t wait so long for this. Three weeks is too fucking long.

“Fuck, _fuck_ …”

Archie is surprisingly quiet while his hovering above him. Jughead knows his holding back; breathing slightly heavier and trembling _everywhere_. Waiting patiently for Jughead to adjust. Archie leans down, closes his mouth over Jughead’s, darts his tongue out and pushes his way through pursed lips. Tongues dance together, and Jughead reaches in between their bodies and closes his hand around his aching dick. He moans quietly, begins moving his hips experimentally, in circles, back and forth. Clenches around Archie and Archie gasps into Jughead’s mouth, already on edge and needing relief. “ _Jug…”_ It comes out as an elongated whine.

“I’m good, baby. I’m good,” and Archie is already moving before he finishes the sentence, mumbling incoherently against Jughead’s throat. Archie rises up on his knees, grips Jughead’s thighs tight, places his feet on strong shoulders and holds his legs against his chest. The thrusts come _harder_ and the bed rocks against the wall behind them.

Jughead doesn’t give a shit about noise levels right now. Whoever’s next door can get fucked. No pun intended.

Jughead swears, tries to get leverage against the bedsheets to match Archie’s thrusts but they’re slippery from sweat. He lays down and takes it instead, feeling like an arrow being pulled taut by a bowstring, further and further _back_ , held tight by strong fingers and inescapable hips.

Eyes roll back in his head as Archie lowers himself down, bending Jughead basically in half. The new angle is just right, _perfect_ and Jughead squeals as Archie quickens the pace, hands gripping the sheets next to his head.

“Fuck, Archie, Arch, _Arch…”_ His name is a mantra that Jughead doesn’t ever want to stop saying. Both of them are trembling against each other and jughead throws his head back as Archie balances on one side, reaching down and squeezing a hand around his dick. “Fuck, there, _don’t stop_.”

His breath hitches, throat closing up, stops breathing for a moment; rooted in a motionless space, sees stars, vision whiting…

The arrow is let go, _finally_ , and Jughead feels himself sprinting through air, straight into the target, dick twitching and coating both their stomachs from built up release. His gasping, voice inaudible by the elbow covering his mouth, a groan making its way past his lips.

Archie slows the movement of his hips, knows how sensitive Jughead is, doesn’t want to hurt him. He’s so good, so good, but Jughead wants to _feel_ him. He wraps his legs around a shuddering frame, pulls Archie in, in, in. “Come on, faster. I want you to come.” Archie concedes, quickens his pace once again, leans over and kisses Jughead lazily, open mouthed and without much technique. Jughead holds him close, muttering quiet encouragements, and Archie’s forehand drops down to his neck.

“Shit, Jug, _Jug_ …” and he comes with a deep sigh and a whimper, dazed as he collapses sideways and covers his face with his hand. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again. “We shouldn’t wait so long next time. Three weeks is too fucking long.”

Jughead laughs tiredly, turns his head and grips Archie’s hand tight where it’s resting over his stomach. “My thoughts exactly.”

 

 **********

 

The next morning, sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains and catches directly over Jughead’s eyes. He squeezes them tighter together and covers his face with his hand. “Oh, fuck _off_ ,” he mutters quietly, sitting up slowly and grimacing as he does. Archie did good last night; his ass burns, as well as his bladder. He needs to piss.

The bathroom is nice. It’s big, and everything is _so fucking_ white. Quite the opposite of Jughead’s dark personality, so really, he balances it out. Archie’s just waking up when he walks back in the room, legs kicking the covers off and arms outstretched above him, gloriously naked. Jughead sits on his side of the bed, crosses his legs and ruffles Archie’s hair. “So, porn star, what are we doing today?” He receives a blank stare in response, eyes eventually scrunching up in thought.

“Well, since we completely ignored the scenery when we arrived, how about we go for a walk along the trail?”

Jughead nods. “Yeah, that’s an idea.”

It supposedly takes up to three hours, according to Clare at the reception desk, so they roll up the beach towels, fill up the water bottles and pack in all into a shared backpack. The beginning of the walk is near the hotel entrance just past the gardens. It’s comforting walking through a myriad of colourful flowers and greenery; aromas blending together like every bottle of perfume that Veronica’s ever worn. It’s sweet, slightly overwhelming.

Archie is practically skipping, already ahead by a few metres and bouncing on his heels. “There’s something seriously wrong with you,” Jughead whines into the distance. “I can’t believe you do this shit for _fun_ ,” he adds, remembering all the times he’d been snoring in bed, probably drooling on the pillow, all while Archie had been jogging or at the gym at ‘fuck that o’clock’ in the morning.

Nearly ten years ago now, just after they officially began dating, Archie had finally confided in Jughead about his muddled emotions; confused, down, anxious _. ‘Exercise keeps my mind active, Jug. I hate being depressed all the time. It keeps me sane.’_ They’d been out by the river, burgers in hand, and Jughead finally understood the importance of communication. Then, they moved to the city, Archie began therapy, and things started to get better; mostly.

“Slow down, man. I’m not walking this thing on my own.”

Archie turns, begins walking backwards, does a little half jog to show off. “You better hurry up then, yeah?” He starts clapping his hands like an owner would to a dog ‘come on, come on!” and Jughead stops, gives him the finger in the middle of the path. “You’re an idiot,” he vocalises, half-heartedly.

“I’m _your_ idiot,” he hears in reply and Jughead doesn’t have the capacity to argue with that, not denying the accuracy. Maybe they’re _both_ idiots.

The majority of the trail is fairly straightforward; read the signs and follow the path. Occasionally, it becomes narrow or rocky, and they’d have to manoeuvre without breaking an ankle. The water stretches out, beyond a continuous coastline, waves splashing against the shore and creating a peaceful ambience that the city fails to provide. The exercise is great too, according to an excitable puppy called Archie, who’s currently breathing in deeply while Jughead gasps for breath.

“Dammit, stop making me run!” Jughead isn’t _unfit_ , but he certainly isn’t _rock hard Archie Andrews_ either. “Stop, stop. I need a break.” It’s been ninety minutes and they’re nearing the end of the first half. It’ll be time to head back soon. They decide to rest down near the water, accessed via a narrow wooden staircase with a rickety frame. Archie’s already on the sand when Jughead slips halfway down, lands on his ass and slides the rest of the way. The yelp that leaves his mouth catches them both by surprise.

“Shit are you…” an exhale, “are you o…” another broken exhale and Archie starts laughing, cackling. Throws his head back and holds his stomach, tears in his eyes. He must feel the fireballs Jughead is metaphorically throwing, because he stops laughing long enough to hold out a hand.

“Are you okay?” Finally, a full sentence.

“Yes, asshole. Perfectly fine. Except for my ass. I think I bruised it.”

Archie starts chuckling again, slyly adding something about his ass hurting from _other_ activities. Jughead slaps his chest. “Your turn next, Arch. Your ass better be ready for me.”

Raised eyebrows, frowning. “I’m sure you can word it better than that.”

“Sure, I _could_ ,” Jughead replies. “How about,” finger to chin, thinking, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling me for days?”

Eyebrows raise higher, lips smirking. “I mean, we’re not porn stars, but it’s certainly an improvement.” The contents of the backpack are taken out and they lay on the beach towels side-by-side. Archie moves his head until it’s resting on Jughead’s shoulder; Jughead’s arm wrapping around his neck and lips kissing the side of his head. The air has cooled down, afternoon sun poking through fluffy clouds, and a feeling of contentment surrounds them both like a blanket. The sky is so _blue_ today, matching the colour of the ocean. Jughead sighs happily.

“You know, I really needed this, Arch.” Another kiss, lips attach themselves to a forehead. “Thank you for being here with me.” Archie shuffles until he’s resting on his side, up on his elbow with a hand pillowing his head. He smiles. “Yeah, babe. Ditto.”

“Did you just Ghost reference me?” Jughead asks, referring to the movie they both won’t admit to loving.

“Maybe.” Jughead lets it slide, this time.

Archie kisses him, softly, then lays his head back down. The sunlight glistens across the shore, and all seems right with the world. Just after six, legs twitching and throats thirsty, do they enter the hotel room and collapse onto the bed.

They fall asleep with the setting sun.

 

**********

 

It’s eight o’clock on a Wednesday morning, and Jughead find himself riding a pushbike into town. Archie eventually convinced him with the promise of coffee and a blowjob.

_‘It’ll be fun!’_

_‘My legs are already aching, and you want me to use them again?’_

_‘I’ll buy you a coffee in town and suck your dick later.’_

_‘Buy me two and we have a deal.’_

Now, the town isn’t too far away, and Jughead wonders why they didn’t just use the perfectly decent truck in the hotel basement. Thirty minutes in, and he’s shuffling forward and backward on the seat, lifting his ass off it completely.

“These seats might as well be punching me in the balls repeatedly,” he complains over the sound of wind and waves. “Why the hell did you decide to do this?”

Archie wavers, looks behind him where Jughead is following. “ _We_ decided. It was a collective decision.” Flutters his hand towards the ocean, “enjoy the ride! View!” like Jughead can’t possibly see the gigantic oasis of water they’re riding past.

“Very pretty. Too bad I won’t be able to create any children to see it though. Shame.”

A scoff. “Melodramatic much.”

“Rude.”

“Your testicles are fine,” Archie all but yells back at him and peddles further into the distance, leaving him in the dust. Double rude. It takes another ten minutes to reach the town, and a _further_ ten minutes before they’re resting under a shady tree, large takeaway coffees safely nestled beside them on the beach towel. The beauty of the place doesn’t fail to appease; trees sway with the light wind, waves splash quietly in the near distance, and caffeine travels through the bloodstream. Well worth the uncomfortable trip, but Jughead will never say those words out loud.

He looks over to Archie. He’s using the backpack as a makeshift pillow, shirt rising up with outstretched arms, shorts resting low on his hips. His hair shines golden and Jughead runs his fingers through it, massaging Archie’s head slowly. He’s beautiful like this. He’s beautiful all the time, but like this, relaxed and open, does Jughead revel in his innocence and peace.  

“You know the worst thing about riding here is?” Jughead pipes up, resting on his palms with his legs drawn out in front. Archie takes a while to answer, eyes tracking the waves as they roll in.

“We can’t take a coffee on the go?” he eventually answers.

“Yes, definitely that, but more so the fact that we have to ride _back_. On nut squashing seats. Real downer, you know?”

Archie giggles, head shaking from side to side. Doesn’t verbally reply, just keeps tracking the waves, seemingly mesmerised. A few more minutes disappear. “How are you feeling?” Jughead cautiously asks, because he needs to know. Archie nods his head, keeps his eyes on the water.

“I’m okay. Better now. This has helped, being here, with you. I don’t feel like my brains exploding, so that’s a plus.” No more questions follow. Jughead never pushes, and Archie discusses his problems now rather than bottles them up. It’s effective communication between them, and it works well. He lays down beside Archie, grips his hand, sighs happily and rests his eyes.

A car horn startles him, _must have fallen asleep_ , and he feels his heart jumpstart. Archie starts giggling, clearly amused.

“Oh, fuck off. I’m tired.”

“You’re in need of another coffee, is what you are. Wait here, I’ll be back.”

Archie stands, sweeps off the back of his shorts as he heads towards the café. Jughead pushes his head backwards, looks upside down and wolf whistles, loudly. Archie twirls in a circle, reaches his arms towards the sky, brings them back down and blows him a kiss. Best friends, first and foremost.

Comes back with two wonderful coffees ten minutes later.

“Where’s yours, Arch?”

“Obviously, I’m just hoping you’ll allow me the pleasure of drinking one of your two.”

“Lucky I love you.”

“So lucky,” and Archie sits down cross-legged, pulls the coffee cup lid off to allow the fluid to cool down inside. An hour flies by and Jughead startles awake again, screaming children passing by. _Great_. Groggy eyes peek over to Archie’s sleeping form, forearm thrown over his head and mouth open slightly. _The best thing_. He taps Archie on the arm, more than once, receives a grunt in reply.

“Come on, hypocrite, time to go.”

Archie looks confused for a moment. “What?”

“You fell asleep. It’s my turn to laugh at you,” Jughead explains, completely ignoring the fact that he too fell asleep, again. Archie sits up slowly, yawns tiredly.

“I need a nap from my nap.”

“Don’t we all,” Jughead agrees, standing up and reaching out a hand. “Come on, you promised me a blowjob and I haven’t forgotten about it.”

“We have dinner at five, remember.” Archie asks, referring to the hotel restaurant they’d booked when they first arrived. It’d probably take another forty minutes to get back. By the time they have showers and get ready, five won’t be too far off. Jughead sighs in fake annoyance, swings his arms dramatically as he sits on the pushbike.

“Ah, fuck. I guess I can wait.”

 

**********

 

The restaurant stretches below the lower half of the hotel, facing towards the moonlit water, lights dimmed and fireplace keeping the deck warm where they’ve been seated. The menu is expressive, described in so much detail, they both have trouble deciphering it; a far cry from the usual burgers and milkshakes that’s consumed whenever they dine out. Expensive shit is supposed to taste better, or something like that.

In the end, Jughead orders the chicken and Archie orders the fish, adding on a bottle of wine at the last minute.

“What?” Archie asks, smiling widely. “We don’t do this often.”

Jughead can’t help but agree. “That we don’t.”

They don’t talk again until the food comes out, content to gaze over the calm ocean with hands clasped together.

When it finally arrives, the food is all appetising; flavours exploding across their tongues and wine washing it all down easily. The plates aren’t piled high either; just the right amount. “Wow just look at us. All fancy and shit,” Jughead mockingly states. “I am, quite frankly, impressed with our ability to scrub up.”

“Beyond impressed,” Archie continues. “We look awesome.”

By the second bottle, Jughead is woozy, head floating and giggly. He doesn’t drink much. To be fair, they both don’t drink, hardly ever. It’s probably just the fireplace bouncing off the lights, but Archie looks like he’s glowing, surrounded by a halo. Jughead breathes in deeply, can’t help himself.

 “You look amazing.”

Archie blushes, fingers glide over Jughead’s forearm, his wrist, his palm. _Oh, oh, oh._

“Hey, we should get out of here,” Jughead sputters. The alcohol is moving through his bloodstream, and he needs Archie. _Now_. There’s no reply. They stand up, pay, walk off inconspicuously. _Everything’s fine, absolutely fine_. When they reach the room, Jughead is near desperate, dropping the card on the floor in the process of opening the door.

“Fucking key card.” The words seem like they’re mumbled behind a screen door, room somewhat spinning and dick already hard. Archie stumbles up behind him, trapping him against the door, forgetting what gravity is as they tumble through when it’s finally opened.

Archie is forcefully pulled towards the couch and pushed to his knees. He’s still glowing, _must be the wine then_ , and Jughead is beyond aroused. “You’re gorgeous, Archie. I want… _fuck,_ I wanna fuck you.”

 His zipper is popped open, jeans and underwear pulled down his legs simultaneously. Archie looks up with expressive eyes, waiting for a command.

“Shirt. Take your shirt off.”

Archie does.

Jughead is captivated, hands gliding over newly tan skin. He sits back, pushes Archie’s head gently downwards and his dick is enveloped in tight heat. Time stops, and all Jughead can feel is a wet mouth and wondering hands stroking his thighs. Archie opens his throat more, enveloping more of Jughead’s dick.  

“Good. So…s good baby. _Perfect_ ,” and Jughead rests his head against the back of the couch, closes his eyes and grips onto strands of hair as Archie rocks up and down. He opens his mouth, bites his fingers to stop from crying out. More of _just_ that, and Jughead is coming, keeping Archie’s head steady as he does. Archie submits, doesn’t try moving away, keeps his mouth open until he feels hands pulling him upwards.

“Up, kiss,” Jughead mumbles between breaths, too drained to use full sentences. They kiss, long and sweet. Archie’s trembling where he’s situated between Jughead’s legs, not making a sound as he tucks his head on Jughead’s shoulder. Doesn’t ask for anything in return, even though he’s clearly hard.

“Hey, Arch. Can you wait, baby? Just until tomorrow?”

Archie whines low in his throat, quietly, nods his head after a long pause. He wants to be good. For Jughead.

 

**********

 

Tomorrow comes, and Jughead wakes to Archie mouthing at his boxer clad crotch. Fingers lightly glide across his lower abdomen, and Jughead thinks this is a _really fucking great way_ to wake up. He reaches down and tugs on Archie’s hair, b _ecause they both find it hot,_ and Archie looks up through his lashes, pausing obediently. Doesn’t last long.

 “Let me, Jug. Please…”

Jughead loves him like this; desperate and near begging, achingly hard and wanting to please.

“Yeah, fuck, okay. Okay. Just give me a minute.” He stands up, uses the bathroom quickly, and grabs the bottle of lube that was placed back into the pocket of his bag. Covers Archie with his body and captures his lips in a hard kiss, pushing him into the bed, shuffling downwards until he has Archie’s dick in his mouth.

“Shit, oh…oh fuck.”

Archie’s gone, off to wonderland, mumbling incoherently as Jughead reaches underneath and palms his ass cheeks apart, thumbing against him. Doesn’t do anything else though, just teases, stirring Archie up, wonders how far he can take it. Feels his hair being tugged upwards, “Come up,” Archie whines and Jughead does, looks into half-lidded eyes and a mouth inhaling air like it can’t get enough.

“Fu…fuck me, please, please, please…” and Jughead interrupts with a filthy kiss, tongue delving into Archie’s mouth.

“Turn over.”

Archie complies, moves until his resting on his stomach.

“Hold onto the headboard, don’t move.” Archie is practically _sobbing_ , hips stuttering into the mattress, trying to get friction. Jughead swats him on the ass. “I said don’t move, Arch.” He stills his hips completely, swivels his head to one side so he can breathe properly.

Archie sure loves fucking Jughead, but there’s something about giving up control that’s amazing in itself. It wasn’t until a few months into their relationship that he finally came to understand this, when he was held down for the first time with strong and capable hands and came so hard, he blacked out for a second. All the shit that happened in their teenage years and Archie feels like giving up control sometimes. Admitted this to Jughead one day when they were talking about their deepest, darkest desires, to say the least.

Jughead was all too happy to comply. He knows how to take control when he needs to. Knows how to pin Archie down and rough him up. _Fuck_ him like he needs it more than air. Jughead coats his fingers, slippery tips pushing up against a quivering hole. Doesn’t waste time, slips one in, then two not long after. In, out, delving deeper until Archie’s hands grip the headboard tight, gasping loudly, stops breathing for a moment. Eyes closed, mouth open, pushing back, “more, fuck, _Jug…_ ” Jughead doesn’t ask if he’s sure, not right now, not when he’s just as needy. Not when he knows Archie can take it. He pushes a third finger in as deep as it can go and hears whimpering, mewls of pleasure. “ _Jug…”_

Archie is beyond ready. So, _so,_ ready and Jughead coats his dick in lube and pushes in, slowly, so slowly so it doesn’t hurt and _gasp, sigh, moan_ because _finally_. Jughead lowers himself until his chest is against Archie’s back, mouths his exposed ear, whispers into it. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes, I…I’m, _shit_.” Jugheads grins, quickening the pace, shoving Archie down with every movement of his hips. It’s hot, it’s nice, but Jughead wants to see. He wants to see Archie’s face. He pulls out, moves backwards to give Archie room to turn, instead he makes a noise of protest. Jughead quietly shushes him.

“On your back, baby, come on.”

Archie eagerly flips over. His legs are ripped open, hands travel down towards his stomach, hips, thighs, underneath knees and he’s pulled down the bed. “Lift. Up.” A pillow is shoved under his ass where it’s flat against Jughead’s front.

Jughead grips Archie’s hips hard enough to bruise, balances himself with hands either side and pushes forward in one swift move. _Fuck, he’s missed this_. Archie’s hands are holding onto the headboard again, _such a good boy_ , and the sheets are rumpled and pushed aside, hair messy and sticking in every direction.

Fingers push into skin, legs wrap around a waist and Archie throws his head back, opens his mouth in a silent scream. He feels _alive_ , like he’s standing on the edge of a bungee platform, anticipation building in his veins, cock trapped between their stomachs. He reaches down, trying to relieve some of the friction but a hand slaps his own away.

“No. Not yet. Wait, baby,” and he _grunts_ , opens his eyes to see Jughead staring down at him, arousal coating his features and Archie reaches up, grips the back of Jughead’s hair and pulls him down into a loving kiss.

“You feel so good. _Fuck, Jug,_ so…so good.”

Archie lowers his legs, knees squeezing Jugheads sides, feet not quite touching the surface of the bed. Their noses rub against each other and Archie is _soaring_. “Love you,” he breathlessly whispers, squeezing his legs tighter, trying to pull Jughead in closer. Jughead kisses him sweetly, keeps his nose against Archie’s, slows his hips right down until his barely moving. Reaches out, towards a hand that’s now gripping the sheets and tangles their fingers together. “Love you, so much.”

Jughead doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Loves when they slow it down, where he can really feel himself buried inside Archie.

But Archie wants to come. Has since last night, and Jughead wants to see his face when he does. Jughead hoists Archie’s hips up more, tells him to wrap his legs around him firmly, and he _thrusts_. Hard. In, in, in and Archie _sobs_ , reaches upwards and holds onto the headboard again, grip tightening with every push, closer and closer…

“ _Fuck,_ Arch, touch yourself,” and Archie does, hand rushing down, pulls at himself desperately. Pleasure builds, builds, builds. He feels himself jump off the platform, careening through weightless air, suspended above the clouds. Breathes hard through his nose, eyelids squeezed together. Hips stutter, thighs clench and his back arches, gone, _somewhere_ in space, and he comes silently, vision whiting and clouds dispersing as he falls straight through them.

Jughead just stares, captivated, always captivated, as he lowers himself to Archie’s glistening chest, head dropping onto his trembling shoulder, swearing into his neck as he follows closely behind; one hand wrapped around a trembling thigh and the other squeezing Archie’s hand tight, breaths coming hard and fast.

 

**********

 

The rest of the day is spent doing absolutely nothing productive. They sit on their private balcony for a good hour; Jughead reading and Archie close to sleep, legs up on the recliner beach chairs and empty wine glasses sitting on the coffee table.

Around midday, they drive into town for food and coffee, choosing a café that looks out over the beach. It’s busier than when they first arrived, being closer to the weekend, but it doesn’t bother them. Plenty of other couples are walking past, and parents are sat on picnic blankets near the parks; children laughing and playing. Jughead absently wonders if he ever had that much energy. Probably. Certainly not now. _Fuck getting older_.

In the afternoon, they go down to the beach, shoulders brushing as they walk. The sun begins to set as they head back towards the room, temperature lowering to the point that they’re both shivering when they reach the door. It’s after eight when they collapse into bed, already tired from the sun and relaxation. Jughead has his head on Archie’s chest, arm resting over his stomach.

“I don’t want to leave.”

Archie holds him closer. “Neither.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Archie speaks again. “Hey, this was perfect, Juggie. We’ll have to get out of the city once in a while, go exploring.”

“Get Samantha off my back.”

Quiet chuckling, “Yes, and that.”

The ocean sparkles, moonlight glimmering in the night sky, radiating through the bedroom window where the curtains have been left open.

“Love you, Arch.”

“Love you, too.”

 

 **********

 

The trip back is slow, highway cluttered with weekend bustle. It’s early afternoon by the time they reach the city, and they’re both strung out from traffic and hunger.

“Burgers. Now,” is the first thing Jughead says when they arrive back to the apartment.

“Did you want to unpa…?”

“Burgers. What part of _now_ don’t you understand?” Jughead immediately stills, voice softening “Sorry, I’m hungry.”

Archie understands. They grab takeaway burgers and chips, recline on the couch together and watch a movie. It wasn’t _Ghost,_ if anyone asks.

Not a day passes before Sam leaves a voicemail on his phone, assertively letting him know to give her a ‘ _call back A.S.A.P. That means as soon as possible, Jughead.’_ He rolls his eyes. His leave hasn’t finished yet, making that Monday's problem. Right now, he’s lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, wishing he and Archie were by the beach again.

Archie appears from the bathroom.

“What are you thinkin’ about, babe?”

Jughead looks over, eyes travelling the length of Archie’s body; rivulets of water cascading down his still damp chest, across his chiselled stomach, down past the towel that is resting low on his hips. Imagines lips open in ecstasy, blissed out and head thrown back against the pillow, hard and desperate. Damn.

“I think I need another fucking holiday.”

**Author's Note:**

> Who knew I liked writing from Jughead's point of view. Amazing.


End file.
